The Other
by Dana Lindelea
Summary: Collaboration between Dana and Lindelea. An ancient curse arises to seize Meriadoc Brandybuck, and his cousin Pippin is his only hope to be saved from a fate worse than death... if only Pippin can survive... (Alternate universe)
1. Harvest Moon

Written in collaboration between Dana (userid=254831), and Lindelea (userid=347109). Very AU story, set just after Merry, Pippin, and Sam have seen Frodo off at the Havens. An ancient curse descends upon Merry, and his cousin Pippin is the only one who can save him... (Genre: Horror/Suspense) [Can you tell who wrote which part? All right, Elves, don't hide behind the excuse that you cannot tell one mortal from another. There's no green jewel in this one... Dana! We forgot the green jewel!]****

**1. Harvest Moon**  
  
(February: Wolf Moon)  
  
The only sound in the clearing was the crackling of the fire, the occasional snap as hot pitch ignited explosively, the sighing of the wind in the treetops, and Merry's soft pleading.  
  
'Pippin? Pippin, listen to me. It's all a mistake. Pippin?'  
  
Pippin turned a deaf ear. Samwise had taken himself for a walk, leaving Sting lying upon the ground unsheathed. Firelight flickered off the bright blade.  
  
Far off in the distance a wolf howl shivered the night. Pippin jerked upright. Merry did too, and Pippin could see him working uselessly at the bonds that held him firmly against the trunk of the tree. Merry caught his gaze, eyes terrified. 'Pippin!' he said again desperately, but his cousin just shook his head and turned away. At moonrise, there would be an end to this. At moonrise, Merry would die.  
  
***  
  
(The Previous October: Harvest Moon)  
  
It had been a month since seeing Frodo off at the Havens, and Merry and Pippin had been a little at loose ends, not quite knowing what to do with themselves. Somehow the parties and jollity rang hollow.   
  
They found themselves drawn back to Bag End, where Rosie and Sam welcomed them warmly, almost as if they were orphans seeking asylum.  
  
'Come back anytime!' Sam said after their last visit. 'But harvest will be coming soon, so you might find me busy if you come back then!'   
  
Pippin glanced up at the waxing moon and laughed. 'Well, you can be sure we won't be back until all the work's done!' he said.  
  
Time passed, the golden days chasing each other in glorious drifts like the leaves that fell from the trees about the Shire. Though they would often be out and about, at times it felt as though there was no better place to be than Crickhollow at the end of a long day. When word came from Tuckburough that Pippin was needed at home, he made a great show of bustling about to get ready, but Merry noticed that all the bustle resulted in very little forward motion. Finally Pippin had done everything he could think of doing, some things twice, as a matter of fact, and he could not avoid the realization that he was all ready to depart.  
  
'Perhaps I should ride all the way with you, Pip.'  
  
'Well, at least to the Crowing Cockerel. I hear there's a new lass there, very pretty, and the brew is said to be quite as good as Barliman's in Bree.'  
  
There was even a bit of laughter as they rode.  
  
'We should make the best of this trip,' Pippin said. It was a clear day and the sky was impossibly wide and blue overhead. He slowed his pony to a slow trot and looked out over the fields. In the distance the green grew darker with the shadow of cool trees. 'After all, the summons was not urgent.'  
  
Merry grinned but slowed his pony, too. 'Perhaps I should ride all the way with you, Pip.'  
  
'I was expecting just that,' Pippin replied in a serious voice.  
  
They shared a smile and road for a bit in companionable silence. Out of the blue, Pippin spoke. 'I think that we should race.' He pointed to a tree some ways _behind_ them. 'Race you to that tree!' There were no complaints to be had and off they went with the wind.  
  
By the time they reached Tuckburough the sun was sinking down to the western horizon. With their ponies safely seen to the stables they went up to the broad front doors. It was Eglantine Took who greeted them, giving her son and nephew a fierce hug.  
  
'You came quicker than we thought you would, son,' she said to Pippin who grinned.  
  
'Well, there was nothing more to do, Mum.'  
  
Eglantine laughed. 'Here, come with me and have a bit of tea before your father steals you away after supper. You'll be staying, won't you Merry-lad?'  
  
"Aye, Auntie, if you don't mind.'  
  
Eglantine wore a reserved smile. 'Always, lad.'  
  
After tea, welcoming the feeling of the warm liquid fighting off the lingering chill of the evening, they were ushered off to supper. It was a full meal and Merry found himself amazed again at the boisterous nature of the Tooks. Even with the time he spent Pippin, it was easy to forget just what it was like to be completely surrounded by Tooks; lively and energetic, they could turn a simple meal into an adventure.  
  
Eglantine had been right about Paladin. After dinner, with only a few words to his nephew, Paladin led Pippin away and Merry, once he had exhausted conversation in the dining hall, went to his appointed guestroom to sleep.  
  
He rose early the next morning with a splitting headache.  
  
'Good morning to you, Merry,' Pippin said jovially as he met Merry in the hall.  
  
'What's so good about it?' Merry snapped, frowning. Pippin arched a brow in question as he gave his cousin a searching look. The frown seemed stuck to Merry's features as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. 'What's the look for, Pippin?'  
  
'Well, you look like Merry, and you sound like Merry, but you're not acting like Merry at all. Did a double steal into my cousin's room and take him away during the night? Doesn't say much for our watch.'  
  
'Now Pippin...'  
  
"Don't you "now Pippin" me, Merry. Something is the matter and you should just tell me before it goes to your head.'  
  
Unknowingly, he'd hit that pony shoe against the stake for a ringer, but Merry was not quite ready to tell him so. 'Pippin, I'm fine.'  
  
Pippin's look read that he didn't believe. 'And your fine is about as fine as mine.'  
  
Merry frowned. 'Now you're just trying to give me a headache,' he began, then stopped and laughed. 'Well, I've already got one. My head is killing me.'  
  
'At least you've a head to kill you,' Pippin said thoughtfully. 'The Thain seems to think I've misplaced mine,' he added.  
  
Merry found himself torn between a grin and a frown. 'Sometimes I think your father has a point,' he said and Pippin grinned.  
  
'My father will be very gratified to have someone agree with him. As usual.' He eyed Merry with unusual concern. 'Hurry, let's see if Mum knows of anything that's good for head pains. With your luck, it'll probably be a particular foul tasting concoction, but hopefully you'll still be able to enjoy breakfast.' Pippin looked glad to not be in Merry's shoes (or lack thereof).  
  
'She'll probably just say that I need a bit of rest,' Merry replied, rubbing the arch of his nose once again, sighing deeply. His headache seemed to be growing steadily worse.  
  
They somehow managed to make their way through breakfast, and only then was there a chance for Merry to speak with his Aunt. 'The best cure for a bad headache is rest, Merry,' she told him. 'We'll start by getting you some tea.'  
  
'See, I told you it would just take a bit of rest,' Pippin grinned.  
  
Merry sighed deeply. 'Of course, Pippin.'  
  
'I'm always right.'  
  
Merry sighed again, grinning faintly. 'Of course, Pippin.'  
  
'I like this side of you, cousin. You're quite accepting of the truth.'  
  
Merry shook his head. 'Now Pippin...'  
  
'Master Peregrin?' a servant interrupted politely. 'Your father is looking for you, sir.'  
  
Pippin nodded and the servant departed. 'Well, that could only last so long. I knew he'd be calling for me again. Take care of yourself, you hear?'  
  
'You're fussing like I'm an old man, Pippin. Go see to that father of yours before we find out if his bellows can bring down the Smials.'  
  
With Pippin gone, Merry sat himself down in the lounge. His Aunt came with tea and sat with him. 'You don't mind a bit of company?"  
  
'Not at all,' he replied, thinking it a bit too impolite to turn her out on her heel. This was her home, after all.   
  
As he sipped his tea, Merry willed himself to relax. It didn't seem to be doing anything for his head, a steady pain above his brow, but he wasn't in any sort of hurry. At least, he didn't think he was.  
  
'You look like something is on your mind, Meriadoc.'  
  
Merry frowned. 'Yes, there's something wrong, but I just cannot put a finger on it.'  
  
'Well, perhaps a bit of elevenses will help you capture the thought?'  
  
Merry took it into consideration then shook his head. 'I've been here long enough as is,' he said, setting his cup down. 'And I've a long ride back to Buckland.' After a moment's consideration, he smiled to take the edge off of his words. 'Thank you for the invitation though, Auntie.'  
  
Eglantine smiled and sipped her tea. 'Well, finish your tea at least.'  
  
And he smiled too, with a slight nod. 'I'll at least do that.'  
  
They sat for a while in silence. After they were finished with their tea, Eglantine went off to see about some domestic matter or other and Pippin arrived. He flopped down into a large chair with an over-exaggerated sigh. When Pippin had been younger, and shorter, this had been the chair that he'd swing his legs and desperately wish that his feet could reach the floor. Now, after the Ent draught, those childish dreams had become reality. Merry raised an eyebrow and pushed his mind from those thoughts.  
  
'Was it that bad?'  
  
'It was worse,' Pippin sighed dramatically. 'But Regi saved me, though I doubt he knows he did.'  
  
Merry grinned and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Pippin gave him a searching look. 'Well, you're here in time to see me off,' Merry said, rising.  
  
'You're leaving?' Pippin gasped, follow Merry's lead.  
  
Merry nodded shortly as he started from the room. 'It's Merimas' birthday, you know, and it'd be thoughtless of me to miss his birthday feast,' Merry explained.  
  
Pippin frowned and jogged to catch up with him. 'Slow down, Merry! Just because we have these longer legs, we shouldn't try and run them off.'  
  
Merry held back his retort, his temper feeling a bit frayed. 'You can't go -- your father would miss you.'  
  
'Yes, but this seems so sudden,' Pippin said stubbornly. 'Are you so sure you have to leave?'  
  
'It's not the end of the world, Pip. You'll see me again before you know it.'  
  
'Yes, well,' and Pippin's reply faltered. 'This still seems so sudden.'  
  
'Some farewells simply are,' Merry replied, shrugging.  
  
Pippin frowned and then affected a grin. 'Well, you'll save me some of the cake, won't you?'  
  
Merry chuckled. They were nearing the front of the Smials now, and Merry could almost reach out and touch the mere thought of fresh air and the wide open sky. Never in his life had it felt so unnatural to be cooped up under-ground. 'O, aye, if I don't get hungry and eat it before your return. Of course, I might have to put it out of its misery if you take too long.'  
  
'Well, I'll be back before you know it,' Pippin laughed, remembering Merry's earlier words.  
  
Merry smiled then frowned abruptly, stopping and putting a hand to his forehead. Pippin stopped, with a frown of his own. 'If you don't stop worrying me like this, Merry, I won't let you leave, even if you miss out on Merimas's birthday feast.'  
  
Merry groaned; the pain was worse now, it was getting unbearable. 'I'll be all right, Pippin. Get back to Uncle Paladin, all right? And give your mum my regards.'  
  
'You can't just leave like this,' Pippin said, frowning still, feeling like he was nine and not thirty-one.   
  
Merry suppressed another groan, though he felt worse with every passing moment. If Pippin got the wind up, he'd not let him go. And Merry must needs go... and he must go now... or else... He wasn't sure what the "or else" was, but he knew that he did not want to find out. 'Pippin, you're acting like a child. Get back to your father!' And Merry turned and strode out the front doors.  
  
***  
  
(February: Wolf Moon)  
  
It was very hard to believe that it had only been four months since that parting.  
  
Pippin sat himself down beside the fire, reaching out to let the warmth of the flames caress his outstretched fingers. There was a chill in the air. The fire popped again, a crackle accompanied by a small shower of sparks. It would be a very long night.  
  
Merry was silent now. Perhaps he would not speak again. Pippin knew that it would be easier if Merry would stay mute and not say a thing.  
  
Pippin looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. Sam stood in the shadows of the trees with only his face illuminated. He stepped forwards, looking towards Merry as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets. Merry was silent, yes, but his eyes spoke more than any words. Sam quickly looked away from him and went to crouch beside Pippin.  
  
'How are you holding up, Pippin?'  
  
Pippin let his fingers curl up against his palms and turned to look at Sam. 'We are doing the right thing, Sam.'  
  
'Aye, Pippin, but that's not what I asked you.'  
  
A sad parody of a smile fitted itself on Pippin's lips. 'You're quite right, Sam. Quite rude of me, I fear. I am doing well, of course. I am doing the right thing.'  
  
'Now, Pippin...'  
  
Pippin rose, moving to where his and Sam's packs sat against the trunk of a tall tree. He crouched and brought out a water bottle, taking a long swig and then recapping the bottle. 'Did you bring a bit of anything strong, Sam?' he asked, putting the bottle away.  
  
'Now, Pippin,' Sam began again, 'you need to think clearly.'  
  
'You're right, Sam.' Pippin rose and wiped his hands off on his trousers. He looked to the horizon--not quite moonrise yet--and frowned. 'Aragorn has yet to show himself. He should be here, Sam.'  
  
'He'll come, Pippin. Sit yourself down.'  
  
'Yes, yes.' There was a very determined look in Pippin's eyes as he went back to the fire. He looked to Merry only once before he instead turned his gaze to the fire. His cousin's features twisted in anguish and Pippin quickly looked away. Merry's tired pleading began to blend with the wind.  
  
It was very hard to believe that it had only been four months.  
  
***  
  
(The Previous October: Harvest Moon) (continued)  
  
After Merry departed, Pippin could not avoid spending much time in his father's company, going over dusty old records of harvest numbers going back decades, for what purpose, he had no idea. He was interested in what was growing now, why should he care what Thain Isumbras IV had harvested?  
  
He sat in the study, valiantly suppressing a sneeze. It must have been a very determined sneeze, for it kept coming back at unexpected times. He knew if he were to let it out, he would be subjected to unspeakable herbal concoctions aimed at warding off incipient pneumonia. There was really nothing wrong with him that a good dusting, or perhaps a thorough fire, or failing that, a nice shattering earthquake wouldn't cure.  
  
He finally escaped his father's clutches only to be snared by his mother as he walked, all unsuspecting, down to the great room for late supper.  
  
'I would like you to sit with Cousin Adelard tonight. He's been asking after you, and he's feeling too poorly to come to the great room for supper.'  
  
Pippin's heart sank. His ancient cousin was always trying to corner him, to whisper incomprehensible warnings into his ear, spraying him with spittle when he got excited about whatever it was he was trying, ineffectually, to say. He nodded dutifully to his mother and turned his steps back into the depths of the Smials, where spiders and snakes and ancient cousins lurked.  
  
Adelard was pathetically happy to greet the young Took, and Pippin felt ashamed of himself for his uncharitable thoughts. He settled down in the chair next to his cousin and answered many questions about his doings the past few days. The questions started out with vague generalities but gradually became sharper, and he became uncomfortably aware that the faded eyes were regarding him intently.  
  
'Went off suddenly to Buckland, eh?' the old hobbit said thoughtfully. 'And had a bad headache before he left?' He shook his head, the stark white curls surrounding his bald pate bobbing gently. 'I don't like the sound of that.'  
  
'D'you think something might happen?' Pippin said, vaguely alarmed in spite of himself. 'Perhaps he should have rested, started off in the morning instead.'  
  
The old hobbit shuddered. 'Nay, laddie,' he said slowly. 'We're well shut of him, I'd say.'  
  
Pippin let it pass. Old Adelard was full of odd fancies, and had a particular disliking for the Brandybucks. He could not ignore it, however, when the old hobbit sat forward abruptly, seizing his wrist.  
  
The old hobbit's eyes bored into Pippin's. 'It's starting up again, laddie. 'Tis, aye, 'tis. It's up to Tooks to stop it. You're to be the next Thain. It's up to you, laddie.'  
  
'What's starting up again?' Pippin asked, bewildered.  
  
'The bane of the Brandybucks, lad,' Adelard said ominously.   
  
Just then a cheerful voice interrupted. 'Och, are ye scaring the lad with your ghost stories again, Delly? Well, that'll be enough of that! Young Pip has enough troubles, with his da looking for 'im, without you stuffing his head full of nonsense and blather.'


	2. Hunter's Moon

**2. Hunter's Moon**  
  
(February: Wolf Moon)  
  
Astonishingly, Sam had fallen asleep. Pippin let him sleep, for when had been the last unbroken night either of them had known? As for himself, sleep was the farthest thing from his mind.  
  
Pippin pulled out a blanket and laid it gently over Sam. Merry raised his drooping head. 'Pip?' he whispered. 'I'm cold, too, Pip.'  
  
'I know, Merry,' Pippin said compassionately. 'It won't be much longer. We promised Aragorn we'd wait for him, but he'll be here soon.'  
  
***  
  
(The Previous November: Hunter's Moon)  
  
It was such a relief to escape from the Smials after an entire month and head back to Crickhollow. There was only so much time that he could spend under his father's watchful gaze before he needed to ride free. With harvest behind them, Pippin was free for the time. He decided to cut across country to visit Bag End, and then head back to Buckland on the Great East Road. He could stop off at Budgeford and see Fatty Bolger on the way. It was getting dark by the time that he arrived and the Moon was beginning to rise; it was nearly full. To Pippin's surprise, when invited into Bag End, he found that Merry was already there.  
  
'My father wanted me to carry a message to Mayor Whitfoot, and I was just passing on my way back to Buckland,' Merry mumbled, strangely ill-at-ease.  
  
'Then we can ride back to Brandy Hall together,' Pippin said, pleased.  
  
Merry tried to smile. 'That's a fine idea,' he said.  
  
Whilst sipping tea by the comfort of the parlour fire, Pippin's eye was drawn to the gleaming sword hanging above the mantel.  
  
'Why, Sam,' he said, 'Isn't that Sting? How is it that Frodo forgot to take it with him?'  
  
'He didn't forget, Mr Pippin,' Sam said. 'He left it a-purpose, said I might be needing it someday.'  
  
'Whyever for?' Merry asked, getting up to take another apple tart from the tea tray.  
  
Samwise stirred his tea, seeming to weigh his words before answering. Finally, he said, 'Mr Frodo said it was a right handy sword for slaying monsters of all kinds.'  
  
Pippin erupted into surprised laughter. 'There are no monsters in the Shire!' he protested.  
  
'Not since those ruffians left, anyhow,' Rose said, pouring more water from the steaming kettle into the teapot.  
  
Merry did not join in the burst of laughter that followed, seemingly sunk deep in thought. At Rose's question, he looked up and said, 'Eh? More tea? No, thank you kindly, Mistress Rosie, but I think I'll turn in now. I'm a bit tired tonight.' As he left, the conversation flowed on, comfortable talk of doings in the Shire now that harvest time was over.  
  
***  
  
Riding back to Buckland, ponies' breath pluming in the chill November air, Merry sang and joked as usual, but Pippin, who had come to know his cousin's moods very well in the months they had travelled together, noticed an undercurrent of strain.  
  
'You're as jumpy as if you expected orcs to be hiding in the bushes,' he said as a song ended.  
  
'Orcs?' Merry laughed. 'Pip, I think we need to stop at the next inn and get you something warm to eat, and something to drink, to take your mind off your fancies.' His pony stumbled, and he jerked at the reins with an impatience that Pippin had never seen in him before.  
  
'What's wrong, Merry?' Pippin pressed. 'Usually _I'm_ the one who dreads heading homewards, knowing what the Thain has in store for me... more dusty records to copy out in a fair hand, more boring lectures to sit through, more disputes to hear, and try to figure out how my father would handle, and write down my solution, and Elbereth help me if what I've written does not match the judgment he hands down...'  
  
Merry shook his head in irritation. 'Nothing's wrong!' he snapped, and Pippin decided to let him be. They rode on in silence for awhile, but the younger cousin noticed that the other often brought up his hand to rub at the back of his neck.  
  
The next inn came into sight, and Pippin sighed. It was the Wagging Dog, not known for the fineness of its brew, but it would have to do. They stopped and had an unmemorable meal, washed down with an inferior beer, and Pippin resolved to plan better next time, either pack along supplies, or time the journey so that they would be stopping at the inn before or the one after the Dog.  
  
Merry, however, seemed to relax a bit after his second mug.  
  
'Headache gone?' Pippin asked as they went back to claim their ponies.  
  
'How did you know?' Merry said. 'It's been nagging at me since second breakfast, but I'm feeling better now.'  
  
'You gents ought to stay over,' the ostler said. 'Looks as if a storm might be blowin' up.'  
  
Pippin cast a glance at the gathering clouds in the sky and looked at Merry, who grimaced.  
  
'Let's chance it,' Merry said. Pippin nodded. At least, they could try to make it to the next inn, just an hour or two down the road. He hated the thought of another meal at the Dog.  
  
'Thanks,' he said to the ostler. 'We're in a bit of a rush. If we push a little, we ought to be able to make it to the next inn before the storm catches us.'  
  
'It's your burial,' the ostler said sourly. 'Don't say I didn't try to warn you.'  
  
'We won't!' Pippin grinned as he swung into his saddle. 'Coming, Merry?'  
  
'I'm right behind you,' Merry answered with a grin of his own.  
  
The rain started when they were perhaps at the halfway point between inns, and it was no gentle rain, but a deluge as if some mischievous tween had upended a bucketful of water over the Travellers. This stretch of road was hard-packed clay when dry, but a slippery mess when wet, and new gravel had not yet been laid against the winter storms. Despite the obvious desire to reach shelter, the cousins found themselves having to pull their beasts down to a careful walk.  
  
'Ah, well,' Pippin shouted into the wind. 'At least we won't need a bath when we arrive! Seems as if the weather has already taken care of that for us!' He was well rewarded with Merry's laughter.  
  
There was a flash in the sky above, and a boom of thunder, and Pippin flinched, cringing lower in the saddle. Rain was one thing, but lightning put a soberer face on their situation.  
  
'Is there any shelter nearer than the inn?' he cried.   
  
Merry grimly shook his head, his hands full of panicky pony. 'Let's just press on,' he shouted back. 'Perhaps we're safer if we keep moving!'  
  
Pippin rather doubted it; on the other hand, if they kept going, eventually they would come to a farmhouse where they could take shelter until the worst of the storm passed.  
  
Another flash and boom came nearly together; the lightning was close, much too close for Pippin's comfort. Merry's pony apparently agreed, for he went mad, fighting and plunging, trying to flee, but only succeeding in losing his footing and going down in the mud. Merry threw himself free, but his foot stuck in one stirrup and he fell hard with the pony, lying unmoving on the ground as the beast scrambled to its feet.  
  
Pippin flung himself from the saddle and grabbed at the head of Merry's mount before it could race away, dragging his helpless cousin behind. Though he pulled the head down with all his weight, the pony fought him, and he felt one of the sharp hoofs score his ankle, but he hung on grimly until the beast stilled, trembling. There were no more bright flashes, and the grumble of thunder sounded increasingly distant, to Pippin's relief.  
  
Finally, the worst fury of the storm seemed spent, and even the rain came lighter. With a firm grip on the reins, Pippin moved to the off side of Merry's pony, freeing the trapped foot, leaving Merry lying in the road. He quickly jogged the ponies to the nearest tree and tied them securely, then ran back to his cousin, lifting Merry's head into his lap.  
  
'Merry!' he called urgently. He loosened Merry's shirt at the neck, to allow his cousin more air. Pulling the shirt open, he saw the beginnings of a bruise on his cousin's breast. With a gasp, he undid more buttons, to see a dark bruise over Merry's heart. Had his cousin been kicked as the pony fell, or regained its feet?  
  
Just then, Merry's hands closed over his own, and he looked with relief to see his cousin's eyes open. 'Thanks, Pip,' Merry gasped. 'I'm all right.' He pushed Pippin's hands away and began to button his shirt.  
  
'That bruise...' Pippin said.  
  
'I'm fine,' Merry said, and struggled to regain his feet. Against Pippin's better judgment, he helped his cousin get up. Merry staggered a bit, putting his hand to his head. 'I knew it couldn't last,' he muttered. 'The headache's back.'  
  
'But that bruise...' Pippin protested.  
  
'That's not where it hurts,' Merry said shortly, then forced a smile. 'Let us get on our ponies. We aren't going to get to that next inn by just standing here, and I could dearly use a mug of beer about now.'  
  
Pippin nodded, and they reclaimed their ponies from the tree, mounted, and rode on.  
  
***  
  
It was a relief to take the familiar turn off the Standelf Road, towards Brandy Hall. They had talked about going direct to Crickhollow, but the house had been shut up and empty and would be cold and cheerless. At the Hall, there were prospects for hot baths, a hearty meal cooked by someone else and ready to eat as they came through the door, and a warm welcome by a crackling fire that neither of the cousins needed to split wood for, nor lay, nor strike sparks and wait to catch.  
  
The Hall was all they'd hoped for, and more. Esmeralda welcomed them, taking them under her wings as the fussiest mother hen, shooing them into the Hall, shucking off their wet cloaks, clucking and fussing.  
  
'You'll catch your deaths!' she said. 'Whatever were you thinking, traveling in the rain and the cold?'  
  
'Well, we could have stayed the winter at Bag End, I suppose,' Pippin teased, 'but I was looking forward to Yule at Brandy Hall.'  
  
'O, you,' Aunt Essie scolded. She gave quick orders, and servants scattered to do her bidding. 'You'll have hot baths in three shakes of a pony's mane, and dry clothes, and a good hot meal,' she said. 'Now off with you, and I do not want to see your faces again until you're warm, dry, and fed!'  
  
Laughing, Merry kissed his mother, and Pippin added his salute on her cheek, and then the two obediently allowed themselves to be dragged off and popped into steaming tubs in the bath room across the corridor from their rooms.  
  
With a glass of brandy in hand, Pippin leaned forward to allow a servant to pour hot water down his back, then slouched back with a sigh. 'You were right,' he said to Merry. 'This is much better than Crickhollow.'  
  
'I'm always right,' Merry maintained stoutly. 'Stick with me, cousin, you'll never go wrong.' He sipped his own brandy with a sigh. 'Seems as if nothing ill could come to pass, here at home,' he said, as if to himself.  
  
'It can't,' Pippin agreed. 'Brandy Hall is the finest place I know in Middle-earth.'  
  
'Better than the Smials?' Merry asked in astonishment. 'What sort of Took are you, anyway?'  
  
'I've been corrupted,' Pippin said smugly, with another sip of brandy. 'Kidnapped by evil cousins, forced to drink brandy, soak in a bath, eat fine food... and never made to copy out dusty records...'  
  
'We'll have to see about that,' Merry said. 'I'm sure there are dusty records lying about somewhere in the Hall, wanting copying...'  
  
'Bite your tongue,' Pippin said, with a mock glare.  
  
Merry laughed. 'So are we going to soak away the day, or are we going to find out what smelt so delicious as we entered the Hall?'  
  
Pippin splashed a bit of water at him, and he protested, laughing. 'We'll never get dry at this rate!' he said.  
  
'_You'll_ never get dry,' Pippin said, lunging out of the bath. 'I'm going to be first at the table and eat my fill before you are half dressed.'  
  
'Indeed!' Merry said, leaving his own bath. Drying off and dressing became a good-natured race, and soon they were walking into the great room, jostling each other and laughing.  
  
Saradoc looked up as his son came in, with a feeling of relief. Surely this laughing, joking Merry meant that all was well with the Brandybuck family. He fought down memory of his brother Merimac's warning, after Merry had departed the Hall the last time. Still... the moon was waxing. There was no harm in taking precautions.  
  
After the lads had filled themselves with enough food for an army of hobbits, Saradoc gestured for attention. 'Pippin,' he said. 'I want you to ride down to Standelf, check on the hobbits there, make sure the gaffers have enough firewood to get them through the deep cold. If they don't, see the head forester, and make sure those supplies of wood are delivered before the week is out.'  
  
'Yes, Sir,' Pippin said, rising from his chair. 'Coming, Merry?'  
  
His uncle forestalled him. 'Take Ilberic with you,' he said. 'I have another task for Merry.'  
  
'Another task, Father?' Merry asked.  
  
The Master of Buckland nodded. 'It's a delicate matter,' he said. 'Family business. Come see me in my study when you've finished the sweet course.' He threw down his serviette and rose from the table. 'Peregrin, if you leave now, you can have tea in Standelf; Farmer Oakleaf sets a fine table. You'll be back to the Hall in time for late supper.'  
  
'Yes, Uncle,' Pippin said obediently, with a wry grin at his cousin. 'Merry's probably tired of my company, anyhow.'  
  
'More likely you're tired of mine,' Merry grinned back.  
  
'No, as long as I keep you well supplied with beer, you're a jolly enough companion,' Pippin said, and took his leave.  
  
'What did he mean by that?' Saradoc asked.  
  
'O it's nothing, Father,' Merry said, embarrassed.   
  
'Headaches?' his father said, more softly. 'And the beer helps them, a bit?'  
  
'How did you know?' Merry asked.  
  
'Just a guess,' Saradoc said. 'I had an uncle with a similar complaint.' Though his face did not show it, his heart was dark with grief and despair, as he left to find his brother Merimac.  
  
***  
  
Riding alone back to Brandy Hall, for Ilberic had fallen ill of stomach cramps and remained at Standelf, Pippin thought he saw the flash of a lantern where there should be none. Could there be ruffians, come through the Old Forest, over the High Hay, and lurking in Buckland?  
  
He slipped from the saddle, tying his pony to a nearby tree, walking softly towards the distant glimmer. He heard soft voices talking and stopped to listen.  
  
He could not make out any of the soft words, but the conversation sounded serious, and he recognised the voices of Merimas and Berilac Brandybuck. His curiosity aroused, he stepped forward into the little clearing. His cousins were seated before an old, windowless shed. Sturdy boards had been nailed across the door.  
  
'What are you doing here?' Pippin said.  
  
Merimas looked up with a start. 'O Pip,' he answered. 'I might ask the same of you.'  
  
'Funny place to be loitering,' Pippin said. 'I thought you might be ruffians, skulking about.'  
  
'No,' Berilac answered. 'We just needed a quiet place to talk. There's no privacy at the Hall, you know that.'  
  
'Indeed. What are we talking about?' Pippin said, crouching down to join the others.  
  
'We're planning a surprise party,' Merimas said sourly. 'And you'll go and spoil it if you say aught to anyone, so be off with you now, and leave us to our plots.'  
  
Just then, a heavy thump came from the shed, as if something threw itself against the door. The three hobbits started.  
  
'What was that?' Pippin gasped.  
  
'O, nothing,' Berilac said nonchalantly. 'We've caught ourselves a wolf, and are just waiting for the forester to come and dispatch him for us.'  
  
'A wolf!' Pippin said. 'In these parts?'  
  
'O, you never know what's going to come through the Old Forest,' Merimas said. 'Anyhow, we had the advantage of surprise; we managed to get a rope on him before he knew we were there.'  
  
A low growling was heard from the shed, and more thumps.  
  
'He sounds right vicious,' Pippin said.  
  
'Very dangerous, I warrant,' Berilac nodded soberly. 'But we'll keep watch until the forester comes.'  
  
'Want help?' Pippin asked. 'I've got my sword with me.'  
  
'No, door's strong,' Merimas said hastily. 'You can see we've nailed it well. It'll be a bit of a chore to get it open, really.'  
  
'Now be off with you,' Berilac said. 'We'll be fine here, and we'll be able to get a bit of planning in, in the meantime. But not with you sitting here.'  
  
'Is it a surprise party for me?' Pippin asked mischievously.  
  
'_That_ would be telling!' Berilac grinned. 'Now be off!' His grin faded a bit as the growling was heard again, but he forced the cheerful look to return and said, 'We'll see you back at the Hall as soon as our business here is done.'  
  
As Pippin emerged from the trees, the full Hunter's moon shone down, turning the frosty fields to silver.


	3. Moon before Yule

**3. Moon before Yule**  
  
(February: Wolf Moon)  
  
'Pippin!' Merry called softly.  
  
'I'm here, cousin,' Pippin said, in spite of himself.  
  
'Pippin, you know I would never hurt you. You _know_ that!' Merry said, his voice fierce. 'I cannot understand how you would believe such lies about me... it is a mistake, Pippin! A terrible mistake!'  
  
'Of course it is,' Pippin said absently, staring into the flames.  
  
Samwise got up, muttering to himself. 'I cannot bear to listen to this...'  
  
'Take yourself off for a walk, Sam,' Pippin said kindly. 'Just don't go too far.'  
  
'Sam, no! Wait! You've got to let me free! Pippin isn't himself, he doesn't know what he's doing! Sam!' Merry's voice rose to a shout as the other walked away, shaking his head, trying not to hear the desperate words.  
  
'Pippin, how could you believe I mean you harm?' Merry said again. 'After all the times I've saved you...'  
  
Pippin sat rigid, staring into the flames, listening to the well-loved voice. 'There was the time you fell into the River, and I dove in after you, though it was cold as ice, d'you remember? I shoved you up onto the bank but was too cold to climb out myself. I nearly died, saving you that day, do you remember?'  
  
'I remember,' he said softly, hating himself.  
  
'And the time you got lost in the Old Forest, I went in after you, and we were caught there by darkness. I stayed with you the whole night through, until the grown-ups found us, surely you remember that!'  
  
'Yes,' Pippin said.  
  
'And the time...'  
  
'I remember!' Pippin interrupted. 'I remember that time, and many others, and I remember the times I saved you... like when the orcs had us, and you'd given up hope, and I cut my bonds, and dropped my elven brooch, and got you out of their clutches, yes, I remember that, too!'  
  
He sobbed, and wiped impatiently at his face. 'And the hours I stayed by your side in the Houses of Healing, begging you to fight, not to let the Darkness take you.'  
  
He rose abruptly from the fire, to walk over to the tree, to stand just out of Merry's reach. 'And now a different kind of darkness is reaching out for you, it'll take you if we do not end this now, and _I will not let that happen to you, Merry! I intend to save you from this..._' he took a great shuddering breath. '...even if I have to put a sword through your heart to do it.'  
  
Merry stared, horrified, into his cousin's relentless eyes, before Pippin turned away, stumbled to the fire, and sat heavily down upon the ground with his back to the tree, deaf to any further pleadings.  
  
***  
  
(The Previous December: Moon before Yule)  
  
There was no better place to spend Yule, thought Pippin, than at Brandy Hall, surrounded by laughter and song, good brandy, and festive cheer. The days were turning cooler now, and Pippin could count on the fingers of both hands, the time before the feast.  
  
But there was still time that he'd be waiting, time to pass before the Yule feast would be celebrated. After he and Merry had been able to make their way back to Crickhollow--for Saradoc had kept Merry occupied for several days, and he and Pippin had hardly seen each other, save the occasional breakfast or noontide--they'd stayed there together for some time. But Merry was gone now, off on yet another errand for Saradoc, and Pippin faced the next few dinners alone, at Crickhollow. That was why the invitation from the Hall came as such a welcome, and Pippin weighed the choices--a dinner alone, or one with his relations, and none of the fuss to be made to put the dinner on the table in the bargain.  
  
Pippin wondered if this was a good choice, heading to Brandy Hall down the darkening lane, but only for a moment; after all, it would be silly of him to turn down a good, home-cooked meal, that he wouldn't have to bother about cooking himself. So he set off from Crickhollow in the chill of the gathering evening, after readying his pony for the ride. He knew how much time it would be before he'd arrive--a song or two as he rode along, and he'd be able to shed the cold of the darkness he rode through, and be welcomed into the warmth of Brandy Hall.  
  
He decided not to sing, humming instead, and the little things which hadn't been much of a bother before he'd left, as he'd made ready for the road, came back to him as he travelled, with none but his pony for company. The silence was heavy and thick, and it was dark, too dark. Pippin chided himself for such foolish thoughts, and continued to ride along. He was an adult now, after all--he'd almost come of age. He was far too old for such childish fancies.  
  
But the odd thoughts didn't actually leave him alone, and he thought of them, instead; of the bad feeling that had settled on his shoulders, when he'd first stepped out onto the front steps--that he was making a mistake. Just opening the door, he'd had the feeling that he'd be better suited this night to stay with his feet propped up by the fire, a glass of good brandy at hand, rather than venturing out into the gathering gloom.  
  
But, hesitating on the doorstep, he'd thought instead of the good dinner, again, and cursed his imagination. And now, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe he should have listened to that little voice of dread, and stayed behind. Even when he'd gone to the little stables to saddle his pony, he'd noted that the beast had been unaccountably jumpy this night. Pippin gave the pony a pat, now, as they trotted along. It was still skittish, more so than usual. Pippin guessed imagination could be catching.  
  
Even as he pinched himself out of irritation, he just could not shake the feeling that he was making a mistake. It was the dreadful sort, and that was obvious at the very least; like that time he'd let Doderic Brandybuck dare him to ride his pony backwards, and at a gallop, and with no saddle, at that.  
  
Well, his good judgment hadn't stopped him then, even if he had left Saradoc unable to choose between throttling his nephew, or handing him over to Esmeralda with thankfulness that his nephew was still alive. Of course, this was one of those things that they decided that Paladin or Eglantine had no need knowing; there were some things that were better left unsaid.  
  
But even knowing that he had come out of that in one piece, Pippin couldn't shuck the feeling that this situation, tonight, was very, very bad.  
  
He tried to put it out of his mind, knowing that it wouldn't be that long before he'd reach Brandy Hall.  
  
Despite that attempt to reassure himself, he urged his pony on, from a trot into a canter, frowning into the deepening darkness and wishing again that he'd thought to stay behind at Crickhollow.  
  
On second thought, remembering the isolated setting of the little house, far from the road, lonely, secluded, he was glad that he hadn't.  
  
He saw that the moon had peeked above the horizon, giving light to his path. He hadn't remembered a time when the ride between Crickhollow and the Hall had taken this long. He gripped the reins and looked out into the shadows, nothing but darkness spreading out, blotting out any reassuring landmarks that he might have seen.  
  
'Honestly, Pippin, you're acting like a lad,' he said to himself, grinning in spite of himself, shaking his head.  
  
Despite his attempt at reassurance, the feeling only seemed to deepen, and Pippin would go so far as to say, that he felt as though...  
  
...he was being watched...  
  
He was being followed...  
  
His good judgment was telling him to run.  
  
He gripped the reins tight and looked to the side, feeling on edge, in the same breath as a sudden, fierce gust of wind. In the distance, the trees were bending and swaying, helpless things, as though they were nothing more than children's toys. The wind tore at his collar, and he felt for a moment that it could rip him right from the saddle.  
  
His pony gave a jolt and he leaned down, whispering soothing words. Its ears twitched and it snorted, upset. Pippin sat back, and urged the pony on; the wind had stilled, and all was deathly quiet. And then, the _bad_ feeling came back, tenfold, right at the nape of his neck. He could feel his hairs standing on end and his pony pranced, nervously.  
  
Pippin kicked his pony back into a canter, his mind screaming _RUN!_, and he ought to have listened to his good judgment; it had been trying to warn him.  
  
And they were moving now, and whatever it was, and that feeling of _bad_, would be left behind them.  
  
But they weren't moving fast enough. _Something_ was out there, and that _Something_ was coming for them. He couldn't see anything in the near-darkness, but he felt the pony quake beneath him, shying away from something, and Pippin thought that he saw something, a vague shape in the light of the full moon, coming at them from the corner of his eye. He kicked the pony into a run, and Pippin felt something catching at his pants leg and he kicked it away, breathing in sharply.  
  
Pippin gave a cry, hoarse from a sudden jolt of panic, and he felt his pony flying. Whatever it was, behind him, would be left there. But no, that overwhelming sense of panic would not be left behind, and whatever it was, it dogged him, riding on his tail.  
  
It came at them again, and Pippin heard the click of sharp teeth, felt the whoosh of hot breath against his leg, and a sudden tearing pain that ran along his leg. He cried out again and his pony, as terrified as he, screamed into the wind, as they raced at top speed for the safety of the Hall. Pippin clung to his pony's mane, and felt that maybe they might just be flying faster than the wind.  
  
He held on like death itself was behind him, and the rest of the ride was a blur, nothing more than shadows and the pounding of his heart and his blood, running cold. The next thing Pippin was certain of, was sliding off of his pony in the courtyard of the Hall, gasping for breath and clinging to the saddle.  
  
A servant came running from the stables and he threw his reins over, panting; Pippin didn't notice the limp in his walk, really notice it, until he was inside and he'd called for his uncle, and Saradoc had arrived.  
  
'Peregrin!' he cried out and Pippin stumbled and the pain was razor sharp, suddenly, and his uncle caught him before he collapsed.  
  
'It was a wolf, I think, maybe a wild dog, can't be sure, but it came upon me and the pony, and--oh, looks like got a piece of me, Uncle.'  
  
Pippin groaned and Saradoc helped him to sit, frowning. 'I'll call for the healer,' he said, frowning. He listened to Pippin as he spoke of the encounter, nodding. He hadn't thought that it had been so serious, before, but these things had a way of sneaking up on you, when they were least expected.  
  
But there was blood on Pippin's leg, and though the bite didn't look deep, it was only what must be considered the first; and if there was something that could be done, to stop the curse, then it must be done, before someone was really hurt, before someone was killed.  
  
Someone else.  
  
He knew it would hurt, but it was for the good of the hobbits of Buckland, of all the Shire.  
  
The healer arrived, and Saradoc knew what must be; and he would see it done.  
  
The wound was cleaned and bandaged and between Saradoc and the healer, they got Pippin to his room, despite him saying that he could walk on his own, thank you very much.  
  
'You had yourself a scare, lad.' He thought for a moment of Merry, and knew that Pippin would not be able to stay at the Hall. It would be getting him to agree to leave, Saradoc feared, that would prove to be the problem.  
  
'Do you think that you can still eat?' Saradoc asked.  
  
'I'm not feeling very hungry,' Pippin replied. 'But not very hungry is still hungry enough.'  
  
'Just keep his stomach full, and keep him warm, I don't think that we'll have any worries,' said Healer Ossilan, nodding to himself. 'And I'll be back to check on the bandages in the morning. We'll watch for infection, but it's a clean tear, only needed a few stitches, and I washed it thoroughly. I think that the worst we have to look forward to is that you might heal with a scar.'  
  
Pippin nodded. 'It wouldn't be the first.'  
  
The healer looked to the Master, then. 'Now, if you don't mind, I think that we need to talk.' He left and Saradoc looked to his nephew.  
  
'Now don't you worry, you won't be forgotten.'  
  
Pippin grinned and made himself comfortable. 'I have no worries.'  
  
After Saradoc was gone, a meal was brought, by Esmeralda herself, and his Aunt fussed over him and made sure that there was enough wood on the fire, and that he was comfortable under his covers.  
  
She left, but only after he'd finished his meal. The last thing that Pippin thought, before he laid down to sleep, was that suddenly, Brandy Hall wasn't the best place to spend Yule, after all.  
  
***  
  
When Pippin woke in the morning, it wasn't the first time that he had jerked awake since falling asleep the night before. At first he'd been restless, and then he'd thought that maybe there was something lurking in the shadows, and he chided himself as he had before. But that didn't stop Pippin from making sure that his windows were shuttered tightly, and it didn't stop Pippin from pulling the heavy chest from the end of his bed to block the door.  
  
He tried to sleep again after that, but there was something that was still missing, and he crept out of bed, limping slightly, to draw his sword and then return to bed. He slept soundly after that, his sword upon the covers, his hand clasped around the hilt.  
  
He sheathed his sword again and rose from the bed, frowning at the feel of his leg, sore. He stepped gingerly across the cool floor and dressed for the day. There was a knock at the door, and he heard his Aunt's voice, though he couldn't make out what she'd said.  
  
Out loud, and loud enough that she'd hear, he replied. 'O, I'll be right there.'  
  
He strained a bit as he dragged the trunk away, back to its place at the end of the bed, and went to open the door. He greeted his Aunt with a kiss to the cheek, and she smiled, though it seemed sad.  
  
He saw Ossilan again after that, who was pleased with what he saw. With the bandages changed, Pippin was sent off, and he was surprised to find Merry coming from his own room. Merry had looked better at other times in his life--there were shadows under his eyes, and he looked as though he hadn't slept at all.  
  
'Merry?' he called out, and Merry didn't seem to hear him. Pippin quickened his pace, despite his bandaged leg.  
  
'Merry?' he called again, worried. A lot of odd things had been happening, and Pippin thought that he could piece them together, like some sort of puzzle, but not all of the shapes quite fit. He wasn't certain what he was thinking. He wasn't sure of what he wanted to think, at that.  
  
Merry looked back and he blinked, then he lifted his hand up and stifled a yawn. 'Oh, Pippin.'  
  
Pippin grinned and clapped his hand against Merry's shoulder. 'There you are, cousin. I was beginning to wonder if I'd see you again.'  
  
'O, I've been here in Buckland,' Merry replied, grinning. He covered another yawn and frowned. 'I need to stop doing that.'  
  
'Well, perhaps you ought to spend more time abed,' said Pippin, feeling foolish for that earlier feeling. How could he be thinking that Merry was somehow mixed up in this?  
  
'I tried that,' Merry replied, chuckling. They started off down the hall. 'But it didn't work at all.'  
  
'What kept you up, then?' Pippin queried. 'You weren't here last night, so I guess that you arrived either very late, or very early.'  
  
'O, early, Pippin, we got in very early.' Merry yawned once again. 'I wouldn't complain if I were to return to bed. But then, I wouldn't complain if I had a chance to put something into my stomach.'  
  
'I was just thinking the same thing,' Pippin replied with a smile. And then, 'We? Who is this we, Merry?'  
  
'O, no one that you don't already know, Pip,' Merry replied. 'Why do you ask?'  
  
'Why won't you tell me who it is?'  
  
'If I must,' Merry responded, exasperated. 'It was just Berilac and Merimas and myself. Are you happy now?'  
  
'Quite,' Pippin replied, grinning. They nearly made it to early breakfast without Merry noticing the limp, but then, when he did, Pippin brushed off his concern with a joke, promising to tell the story later. When they arrived at the great room, Saradoc came up and took his son off for a talk. Pippin saved Merry a seat when he sat himself down to eat.   
  
When he and Saradoc returned after a brief discussion, Merry made no mention of Pippin's limp afterwards, asked no further questions, and Pippin decided that Merry must have forgotten already. He ought to forget about it himself, except for the occasional throb, or twinge when he moved unthinkingly.  
  
He decided, as well, that he didn't mind. After all, he wasn't quite sure how such a nightmare could be explained. He'd rather forget the incident, than try to form words about it.


	4. Moon before Yule, continued

**4. Moon before Yule, continued**  
  
(The Previous December: Moon before Yule) (continued)  
  
Halfway through early breakfast, a farmer interrupted their meal--a pale and shaking farmer, very upset, out of breath, accompanied by several other hobbits, elder sons, or hired workers, perhaps. The Master rose, concerned, as the steward gravely brought the farmer in. 'What is the meaning this?'  
  
'You must hear his story,' old Cardoc said, his face grim.  
  
'It's like this, Sir,' the farmer gasped. 'I rose and went out to check the fields--I always do, before I take my morning meal, and I went out to find that half my flock had been slaughtered, Sir, in the night, while my family slept.'  
  
There were gasps around the room and Saradoc looked more shocked at this, perhaps, than he might have at any other time. He set his face and looked to Merimas. 'Merimas, you go out with one of them and report the damages to me.'  
  
Merimas nodded, rising, and left with one of the farmer's companions. The farmer spoke again, 'I've brought some of the carcases in the wagon, for you to see, Sir. I've naught seen anything like it in my life.'  
  
'Stray dogs, perhaps?' Merimac said smoothly from his place at table. 'We'll have to alert the Shirriff that there are strays to be dealt with.'  
  
The farmer shook his head vehemently, echoed by his companions. 'I've had sheep worried by dogs before,' he said strongly. 'This warn't dogs.' There was a mutter of agreement from the others.  
  
The Master nodded. 'Show me what's in your wagon,' he said. He shot a look of apology at his wife. 'Stay, my dear,' he said. 'No need for you to see this.'  
  
Pippin rose as well. 'Coming, Merry?' His cousin seemed half asleep, playing idly in his porridge with his spoon. 'Merry?'  
  
The other looked up. 'O, er, yes, Pip, I'm right with you.' He rose slowly, and the little group went out to the courtyard.  
  
They looked in silence upon the remains of the sheep, tattered remains of wool and bone and flesh that lay bloodily mingled in the bottom of the wagon.  
  
The slashes were deep and there wasn't much left. Merimac frowned as the farmer said. 'We left a lot more in the field. They're all like this. Just torn to pieces.'  
  
Saradoc nodded. He looked back to his son, and his nephew. He was more certain than he had been, before, that Peregrin could not stay in Buckland. He must find some way to convince his nephew to leave.  
  
He was certain that _it_ would come for Pippin again, now that it had its first taste of blood, and death. It had tasted not only sheeps' blood, but Pippin's, the slash on his nephew's leg attested to that, and it would not rest until it had reduced the young Took to tatters of flesh, and bone, and blood. Saradoc knew it was only a matter of time. The horror had always followed the same pattern, and there was only one solution, something he did not want to admit, but would have to face. Soon.  
  
Pippin didn't need to know anymore than he already did. He had a feeling that already knew those teeth, well enough. He had no desire for a further acquaintance.  
  
***  
  
Second breakfast was an unusually silent meal. After the farmer had left again with what little reassurance the Master could offer, Saradoc and Merimac, Merry and Pippin had returned to the dining room, though they had pushed away their plates and merely sipped at their tea. A lot had gone on in a little bit of time, between early breakfast and second breakfast.  
  
The silence continued until Pippin spoke his thought. 'I think I ought to go back home for Yule,' he said. 'After all, my parents would be pleased to have me join the celebration at the Smials.'  
  
Saradoc jumped in quickly. 'Excellent idea, lad, how thoughtful! If you leave right away, you could get to the Crowing Cockerel before dark and stop there for the night, continue on to the Smials the next day.'  
  
Travel by daylight, an increasingly attractive idea... 'Yes,' Pippin said. 'I think I shall.'  
  
Saradoc rose from his seat, throwing down his serviette. 'I'll just order the Ferry made ready,' he said. 'We don't normally run it in December, but the River is not frozen at the moment, and it will cut miles off of your journey.'  
  
'Thank you, Uncle,' Pippin said.  
  
'I'll order the kitchen to pack up some travel rations for you,' Merimac said, exchanging glances with Saradoc, 'and have Old Nob saddle your pony for you.' He emptied his teacup and rose. 'You can be on your way as soon as you've finished your breakfast.'  
  
'Excellent!' Saradoc said so eagerly that Pippin stared at him. Had he offended his Brandybuck relations somehow, that they were eager to turn him out of the Hall? As if divining his nephew's discomfort, Saradoc modulated his tone and said, 'Of course, we'll miss your lively presence, lad, and the stories you tell, and your voice at the singing, but I think your parents will be very blessed to have you grace their celebration. Our loss is their gain.'  
  
'Of course,' Pippin said slowly.  
  
'Well, then,' Merimac said briskly. 'Let's get to it.' He and Saradoc left the great room together.  
  
'I'm sorry to see you go,' Esmeralda said softly, 'but I think it is for the best.' She looked at him intently, sadness in her eyes, and he had the feeling she was trying to tell him something.  
  
'You're going back now?' Merry said, as if he hadn't been attending the conversation until this moment. 'Whatever for?'  
  
Something prompted Pippin to say, 'I've been urgently called back home. Sorry to miss you. I'll try to come back as soon as I can after Yule.'  
  
'You do that!' Merry said, but his mother's glance spoke differently. _Stay in the Smials as long as you like_, her eyes said. _Stay as long as you can... Stay away_.   
  
***  
  
Pippin reached the Crowing Cockerel just as dusk was settling on the woods. He was halfway home, and this was a good place to stop, with the added benefit of being home to the best beer on the Stock Road. He hurriedly stabled his pony, entering the common room of the inn just as the last of the light left the sky, breathing a sigh of relief to hear voices raised in conversation, laughter and song. He smelled a good dinner cooking, and saw that the common room was quite crowded. He wasn't in a company mood this night, and his leg was beginning to pain him again, so when the innkeeper bustled up to him, he asked for a private room, and dinner and a bath as well.  
  
'Certainly, certainly,' the innkeeper said, recognising the son of the Thain. 'Whatever you wish, Sir, we'll have it for you in a twinkling.' He showed Pippin to his best private room, a bit smaller than the shared rooms, but with its own fireplace and a window looking out on the woods.  
  
As soon as the servers had poured buckets of steaming water in the bath, Pippin said, 'That will be all, thank you. You can leave the bath and the tray until morning, I do not wish to be disturbed after this; I intend to seek my bed soon after bath and supper.' He sweetened the order with a few coins in the head server's hand.  
  
'Yes, Sir,' the hobbit said with a bow. As soon as he shut the door behind himself and his fellow servers, Pippin threw the bolt, and shoved the heavy chest over for good measure, then strode to the window and shuttered and bolted it as well. He had a goodly supply of firewood, he noticed gratefully, and he built up the fire such that any intruder would think twice before trying to get at him through the chimney.  
  
Shaking himself for his overactive imagination, he still breathed a sigh of relief at the feeling of being safely shut into a fortress, and slowly undressed and immersed himself in the bath. The warm water was soothing to his injured leg, and he soaked until the water grew tepid, sipping at the beer the servers had brought, before drying himself and applying himself to his meal.  
  
He slept again this night with his sword in his hand. He wondered if it would become his constant companion, and if his wife, whoever she might be, would object. He drifted off to sleep imagining arguments with a pretty hobbit lass on their wedding night.  
  
'Now, really, Pip, a sword--!'  
  
***  
  
The ride back to the Smials in the bright sunshine was so uneventful that Pippin began to doubt himself again. Only the occasional throb from his leg assured him that he had not dreamed this nightmare...  
  
His parents greeted him with surprise, especially his mother, who knew how he relished his time away from the Smials.  
  
'Pippin,' she said, holding out welcoming arms. 'I didn't think we'd see you until well into the New Year!'  
  
'You're limping,' his father grunted, and his mother immediately fussed over his bandaged leg.  
  
'Adelard has been asking after you,' the Thain broke in abruptly. He locked gazes with his son, then nodded to himself. 'I think you ought to go and greet him right away. We'll have time to talk, later.'  
  
'Yes, Sir,' Pippin answered, and for once, there was no stir of rebellion deep within his spirit as he said the words. He gave his mother another hug--it was so good to be there to hug her--and then said gently, 'I'll have tea with Cousin Delly and see you at late supper, Mother.'  
  
'Very well, Son,' Eglantine said, giving her husband a questioning look. Pippin had the feeling they were about to have one of their long talks, but since he was about to have a long talk of his own with Cousin Adelard, the idea did not worry him as much as it might have at one time.  
  
Delving ever deeper into the Smials was not disquieting this time, but somehow comforting, as a mole might feel, working its way deeper into its burrow, away from dangers to be found outside. The lamp- and torch-lit darkness felt _safe_, surrounding him with security. Nothing could get at him here.  
  
He found Cousin Delly in his favourite chair, feet on the fender by the fire, wrapped in his most tattered dressing gown, made shabbier by the holly with its bright berries, the balsam branches laid about to dispel the dusty atmosphere with their sharp, woodsy fragrance, the candles and lamps lit everywhere in celebration of Yuletide.  
  
A spicy smell arose from the plate of biscuits on a table by the old hobbit, and steam rose from a mug of hot cider in his hand. His faded eyes lit up to see Pippin before him, and he gave a shout of welcome.  
  
'Pip! Lad! Come sit down! Welcome, and a most joyous Yuletide to you!' He turned his head to shout at nobody in particular. 'Bring the lad a mug! He's half froze, I don't wonder!'  
  
'Thank you, Cousin,' Pippin said, sinking into the other chair by the hearth.  
  
The faded eyes were sharp for all their years, and his uncle took note of the bandaged leg immediately.  
  
'What happened to you?' he said. 'Stub your toe?'  
  
'It's a long story,' Pippin said, gratefully accepting his own mug of hot cider and sipping appreciatively. The old hobbit nodded, plying him with spice biscuits and small talk until he started to relax and feel sleepy.  
  
'And did young Merry Brandybuck come with you this trip?' Adelard said quietly, as if it hardly mattered.  
  
All of a sudden the bad feeling was back in full force. 'No,' Pippin said, and was astonished at the feeling of relief that swept over him. 'No, he stayed in Buckland.'  
  
'And you're not sad at that turn of events,' Adelard said. 'As a matter of fact, you were glad to get away.'  
  
'How did you--?' Pippin began to ask.  
  
'Tell me, lad, tell me what's been happening in Buckland?'  
  
Pippin began to tell him about the everyday happenings, how he'd been sent to make sure the poorer hobbits had firewood for the colder months, the tasks the Master had set him... but somehow, he found himself telling about sheep slaughtered in the field, the wolf that Merimas and Berilac had guarded in the old storage shed, and the mysterious attack on his ride from Crickhollow to Brandy Hall.  
  
The old hobbit nodded wisely, but his eyes were very sad. 'Och,' he said. 'Poor, poor Essie. She should never have married into that family. And her only son, too.'   
  
'What do you mean, Cousin?' Pippin asked.  
  
'I told you before, lad, weren't you listening?'  
  
'No,' Pippin answered honestly. 'I didn't want to listen.' He took another sip of his cooling cider. 'But I'm listening now.'  
  
'Well, lad, it all started out when hobbits of the Shire went to fight against the Witch King... it was said that none returned, you know...'  
  
***  
  
(February: Wolf Moon)  
  
Sam bent to throw another stick on the fire, and Pippin woke with a start. He looked immediately to the tree, relaxing slightly as he saw Merry's drooping head. It had been foolish to sleep; though the bonds were as tight, and intricately tied as they could make them, had he escaped they might never have this opportunity again.  
  
'What did Saradoc say?' Sam asked quietly. He had not yet heard about Pippin's confrontation with the Brandybucks, though he knew it had happened, how else had they been able to spirit Merry out of the bosom of his family as the Moon approached his full?  
  
'He admitted everything,' Pippin said. 'What else could he do? He said it was an ancient curse, cast upon a Brandybuck who went to support the North-kingdom against the Witch King. The stories say that none returned... but one did.'  
  
'Why haven't we heard more about it? And why didn't they stamp it out, years ago?' Sam asked.  
  
'Often, the Other appeared after a hobbit had a wife and family, and they could not... could not kill the child, or children, not knowing if the curse would appear. Many's the generation that was skipped, you know, and they thought it gone, only to have it raise its head again.'  
  
He sighed, thinking of Merimas and Berilac guarding Merry, in the secluded storage shed. 'They'd try to keep the Other safe as long as they could, but eventually it would take him over and he'd have to be slain. 'Tis only at the beginning that the Other appears when the Moon reaches his full.' He shook his head in despair. 'The longer it goes on, the longer the Other stays, until finally it takes him over completely, lasting from full moon to full moon, swallowing up the hobbit as if he'd never been.'  
  
Samwise shuddered. 'So they were trying to keep him safe as long as they could, knowing...' He could not continue.  
  
Pippin nodded. '...knowing that the day would come, they'd have to put a sword through his heart, but putting it off as long as possible, for the love they bore him.' He broke the stick he was whittling, casting it away with a violent gesture. 'How can a father order the death of his own son?' he said in frustration. Then more quietly, he added, 'I think Saradoc was relieved, to know that we were taking Merry away, to make an end.'  
  
'And that's why the Brandybucks said nothing?' Sam said. Pippin nodded.


	5. Moon after Yule

**5. Moon after Yule**  
  
(The Previous January: Moon after Yule)   
  
The cheerful crackle of the fire in the study at Bag End should have been warming, but there was a chill in Pippin's bones that the brightest fire and the warmest cup could not dispel.  
  
'The curse of the Brandybucks?' Sam said. 'Sounds like a tale to be told by the Yuletide hearth for the amusement of tweens.'  
  
'I wish it were merely a tale,' Pippin said. He reached down to unwind the bandages that covered the healing wound on his leg. 'Take a look. Those are real teeth.'  
  
'A wolf?' Sam guessed.  
  
'Wolves hunt in packs. A lone wolf would never attack a pony and rider, you know that, Sam,' Pippin said in irritation. His eyes went over the shelves of books again, but he shook his head. There was nothing on this, there, he knew. The Brandybucks had kept it a close secret.  
  
'The Witch King...' Sam mused. 'He was an enemy of Gondor for a long time before Merry and Eowyn slew him. Perhaps there would be something in the library there...?'  
  
'Brilliant, Sam!' Pippin exclaimed. 'Why didn't I think of it before? We must send a message to Aragorn!' He got up and limped over to the desk, looked to Sam, and at his nod, drew forth a pen and paper.  
  
He wrote quickly, blotted the paper, then handed it to Sam. The other read slowly, pulling at his lip, then nodded. 'Put in the solution, as well,' he said. 'Death by a sword in the heart, at moonrise, during the Change. Ask if there is any other way to deal with this, short of Merry's... murder.' His eyes filled with tears at the thought, and he dashed them away impatiently, adding, 'Mr Frodo was never one to shirk from his duty, and I won't either... but I wish there were a way to save Mr Merry.'  
  
'We'll save him, all right,' Pippin said softly. 'Even if we have to kill him to do it.'  
  
'I don't think you ought to take the letter yourself,' Sam said seriously. 'You'd have to pass too close to Buckland to get it to the King's messenger.'  
  
'I don't want to entrust this to the quick post,' Pippin argued.  
  
'Then _I'll_ take it,' Sam said quietly.  
  
'You do that, Sam,' a voice said from behind them. Rose stood in the doorway, her face pale. 'I came to ask if you wanted more tea,' she said.  
  
'How much have you heard, Rose?' Sam asked, his disquiet showing on his face.  
  
'Enough, Sam,' she said, crossing to him and kissing him on the cheek. 'Enough to know that Mr Pippin ought to stay as far from Buckland as he can. And that you must travel only by day, and preferably when the Moon is as thin a sliver as he ever gets to be. And don't let that... _thing_ get a taste of your blood, or you'll have to stay away from Buckland as well!'  
  
'Ah, Rosie,' he said. 'How did I ever deserve a lass like you?'  
  
'You didn't,' she said firmly, 'but you can keep working at it until you _do_ deserve me.' She was rewarded with his chuckle, but then she said, 'The moon is waning now, do you think it is safe?'  
  
'It's still too near full for my liking,' Pippin said. 'I'd wait a week, if I were you, Sam, and travel to Bree after it's passed the half, and get back before it waxes past the half again.'  
  
'I think you're right,' Sam said. 'After all, I've got Rose, and Elanor to think of.'  
  
'That you do,' Rose said firmly. 'Now how about a fresh pot of tea? I've got some scones to go with it, if they haven't gone cold by now.'  
  
***  
  
The letter went off to Gondor, and seeing as how it was one of the Ringbearers who delivered it to the guardpost, it went off at best speed.  
  
Less than a month had elapsed, and the moon had passed its full for January and was shrinking again when the answer came back from the King.  
  
Pippin was sitting in the Thain's study, meticulously copying out old records, when Sam was shown in. Thain Paladin looked up as well, and seeing the look that passed between the two, he rose from his chair.  
  
'I assume this is that matter that Adelard spoke to me about,' he said quietly.  
  
'Yes, Father,' Pippin said.  
  
The Thain nodded. 'Are we any closer to a solution?' His eyes reflected his sister's sadness; he knew that soon she must lose her only child, and it grieved his heart that his own son must needs be the hand to do the deed.  
  
'Yes, Sir,' Pippin said.  
  
'I will leave you to it, then,' Paladin said, and left the room. He could not countenance the murder of one hobbit by another, not even under these circumstances. In this case, Thains had turned a blind eye to necessity for centuries, now.  
  
Sam came over to Pippin's desk and sat down. He was pale, but he drew a letter from his waistcoat and unfolded it.  
  
'The quick post messenger was over-awed to be delivering a message from the King,' he said wryly. 'All those seals and things, you know. At least he was too awed to try to peek inside. And the King had his Messenger ride up from Sarn Ford to the southern border of the Shire, rather than by way of Bree and to the Brandywine Bridge, past Buckland.'  
  
'He's being very careful,' Pippin said.  
  
'You'll see why,' Sam said, and shoved the letter across the desk.  
  
Pippin read silently, his shoulders drooping at the last. 'No other way...' he breathed.  
  
'He says he'll come,' Sam said. 'That's some comfort. You don't have to be a kin-slayer; the King will do the deed himself. All we have to do is trick the Brandybucks into letting us take Merry, before the moon waxes too much. Once we've got him, we'll keep him captive until the right time, and then...'  
  
'Make an end,' Pippin said, his heart sick.  
  
Sam went on. They might as well finish the planning now, as later. 'Aragorn said to meet him at a particular place in Buckland,' he said. 'Do you know it?'  
  
Pippin smiled grimly. 'I know it well,' he said. 'It's not far from the High Hay, but in a place the Bucklanders don't go very often. He says he can climb over the Hedge, he's done it before... now _there's_ a story I'd like to hear... and meet us there for the waxing of the February moon.'  
  
'They call it the Wolf Moon,' Sam mused. 'Sounds about right, don't it?'  
  
'Aye,' Pippin said grimly. 'That it does.'


	6. Wolf Moon

**6. Wolf Moon**  
  
(February: Wolf Moon)  
  
Just before moonrise, Pippin picked up Sting and walked over to Merry. Sam protested. 'It's early, yet.'  
  
'We have to be ready,' Pippin said grimly. 'We have to strike at just the right moment, and it has to be quick and clean.'  
  
Merry gasped as Sting slashed at his cloak, and then his shirt, baring his chest, the dark bruise-like mark over his heart standing out like a shadow in the firelight. Merry shrank away as the tip of the sword rested momentarily on the mark.  
  
'There,' Pippin said, nerving himself. 'That's the place.'  
  
'Not yet!' Sam said sharply, as Merry sucked in his breath.  
  
'Not yet,' Pippin agreed. 'But soon.' He glanced at the horizon. 'Moon's just arising from his rest,' he said. 'I can see the glimmer. It'll be a few moments more, just that, no more.'  
  
'Wait,' a voice called out of the darkness, and as Pippin turned, the King stepped into the firelight.  
  
'Strider,' Sam said with relief. 'You came.'  
  
'I'm here,' the King said. 'I had a little trouble slipping over the border; your Shirriffs are a bit on edge, it seems.'  
  
'Livestock's been slaughtered in the fields,' Pippin said, with a glance at Merry. 'I'm glad you came in time, Strider. I wouldn't mind if you did this deed. I'm not sure I could murder my cousin in cold blood, but I will if I have to.'  
  
'No,' Merry said, but no one paid him any heed.  
  
'There might be another way,' Elessar said urgently. 'A cure...'  
  
'Cure?' Sam said sharply. 'You didn't say anything about a cure in your letter, just how to make an end, sword through the heart, in the midst of the Change.'   
  
Merry shuddered. 'You're mad,' he whispered. 'You're all mad.' His eyes were filled with horror, and hopelessness.  
  
'I've been scouring the ancient records,' Elessar said, 'and I found one, buried. It was so faded I almost missed it, but the keeper of the chronicles helped me to bring out the faded ink enough to read. There is a cure, a mixture of elements, some found in the South, some found here in the North-land, and if we can get it into him during the Change, it will reverse the curse. He'll be free, and all his descendants after him.'  
  
'Free?' Pippin said, his head spinning. He hardly dared hope. He turned away and walked over to stare into the fire again. Elessar followed, to rest a hand upon his shoulder.  
  
'All I need is a little time,' the King said. 'I have everything the ancient records called for, all but the juice of a certain berry that I should be able to find growing nearby.'  
  
'Time is the one thing we do not have,' Pippin said stubbornly. 'Moonrise is nearly upon us. The deed must be done at moonrise.'  
  
'Please,' Merry called from the tree. Pippin paid him no mind, standing a little straighter, perhaps, but not turning his head. Aragorn looked to Merry, his face expressionless, then back to Pippin.  
  
'There could be another way,' he said as persuasively as he could.  
  
'Listen to him, Pippin!' Merry called desperately. 'Don't do this!'  
  
'It has to be done during the Change, that means at moonrise, but it also means moonset. Give me that time to find the berry, finish concocting the cure.'  
  
'Cure?' Pippin said skeptically.  
  
Elessar nodded. 'That's what the records say.'  
  
'How do we know?' Pippin said.  
  
'If he drinks it, and the mark on his breast fades to nothing, he is cured. The Other will never return. If the mark remains, the only thing to do is to put a sword through it.'  
  
'A sword through the heart,' Sam said, walking up to the fire.  
  
'Yes,' Elessar nodded. 'At least it will be quick and clean.'  
  
Merry made no sound, but he shuddered.  
  
The edge of the moon appeared above the hills to the east, and Merry writhed in his bonds and gave a moan. 'Cold,' he said, his voice shaking, and then it suddenly became darker. 'No,' he said, 'hot...' He fought against the bindings, and for a moment, Pippin caught his breath, fearing they might not hold him.  
  
'Too hot,' Merry said again, his voice a snarl. 'Got to get... cloak... off.' He struggled, then threw back his head. The shadow on his breast grew darker.  
  
'Now's the time,' Pippin breathed, bringing Sting up involuntarily, but the King stayed his hand.  
  
'We'll wait until moonset,' Elessar said persuasively. 'Let him have this chance at life.'  
  
The three watched in horror as Merry became... _not_ Merry, but something unspeakable. Something... _Other_.  
  
'I don't know,' Sam said slowly. 'I think we ought to...'  
  
'Too late,' Pippin gritted, staring into the Other's slitted eyes. The mark had darkened, and then been covered by coarse hair. 'We'll _have_ to wait until moonset now. No sword can slay him until then.'  
  
***  
  
Aragorn found the plant by its scent in the dark. Looking at the angle of the moon, he was reassured to find he had hours yet before moonset. He'd be back well before time, at this rate.  
  
There wasn't enough light to see clearly, but his fingers knew what to look for. Carefully avoiding the thorns, he squeezed the fruits he encountered, looking not for the firm, hard ones, nor the ones so soft that they fell into his hand, but the ones that gave slightly under pressure and required but a small tug to detach.   
  
He picked more than he needed into a handkerchief, then found a clearing where enough moonlight streamed to see.  
  
Opening the handkerchief, he examined the fruit by feel, discarding any that felt split or misshapen. He counted what was left, discarded two more. Too much would be deadly; the juice of this fruit was not normally consumed by Man or hobbit. Odd that this plant grew only in this part of the North, but perhaps the Valar had placed it there on purpose. Its only use in the Southern kingdom had been as a fabric dye, coveted for its rarity, but the North had found other uses, as the dusty records had detailed...  
  
Taking the stopper out of the precious bottle he'd carried from Gondor, he began to twist the cloth carefully. As the fruit within ruptured, drops of dark juice stained the cloth and began to drip from the bottom. He counted the drops that fell into the bottle.  
  
Satisfied, he stoppered the bottle again, scratched a shallow hole, buried the cloth with its deadly pulp. As he was covering it up again, a grim voice said.  
  
'Stop what you're doing.' Looking up, he saw that soft-footed hobbits surrounded him, bows drawn.  
  
'What have we here?' a grim-faced hobbit with Shirriff's feather in his hat said softly. 'A ruffian, come back for more? Hadn't ye heard of the King's edict, now, no Men to cross the borders of the Shire?'  
  
He had the feeling they would not believe it was his own edict he was violating.  
  
***  
  
Pippin's stomach rumbled, and he thought of the food in the saddle bags, uneaten. He knew if he tried to eat now, he would not keep it down. He forced himself to take some water.  
  
The Other caught his eye with an intense gaze, hunger in its expression, slaver dripping from its jaws. 'Ah, Merry, the horror I am saving you from,' he muttered.  
  
***  
  
Aragorn guessed this to be one of the more unbelievable things that had happened over the course of his life--and he wasn't any spring chicken. He'd seen a lot, over the course of the years.  
  
In the grand scheme of things, he guessed that this would be a fitting way to go, put to the sword by Shirriffs enforcing his own edict. Nice to know they took his laws so seriously. The hobbits were nothing if not law-abiding, and he was tied very tightly to a tree.  
  
He supposed that he could struggle, but he didn't think that it would get him anywhere. Anyway, the hobbits might be moved to strike sooner, and there were many of them, and only one of him.  
  
At moonset, he'd heard the Shirrif say, though it hadn't been directed to him, instead to one of the hobbits with him, the ruffian would be put to the sword. The King couldn't help but feel that it would be a fitting end. His wouldn't be the only death to come with the setting of the moon. Merry would be in good company.  
  
Time wore on and the hobbits gathered around the fire. One was left to guard him, sword out and held at the ready, in the unlikely event the ruffian might somehow free himself from the intricate knots and windings of rope. He eyed Aragorn wearily, as if the thought of the Man's trying anything was more work than he cared to contemplate.  
  
Aragorn, not wishing to feel the sting of a sword, knew that nothing would be tried. His guard had a bow, as well, as did all of the group.  
  
The hobbit shrugged his shoulders a few times and got up to walk in circles before the Man, always keeping one wary eye on the prisoner. Aragorn recognised the attempt of a weary guard to stay alert.  
  
Soft snores could be heard from a few of the waiting hobbits, while the Shirriff threw more wood upon the fire and lit his pipe. Several of his helpers followed suit, and the rich smell of pipeweed smoke drifted past the Man, wakening him from his bemusement. Time was wasting. Despite being in the midst of a situation that felt hopeless, Elessar knew that there must be some way, some hope of escape. Perhaps if he could just distract his guard, then something could be done...  
  
'Weren't very smart of you, to come trekking into the Shire,' the hobbit said, as though he could read Elessar's mind. 'You'll be a lesson to any of your fellows. After you're put to the sword, we'll probably leave you tied to the tree for a few days, just in case any other ruffians happen by.'  
  
He could only grimace in a parody of a smile. Yes, that would be a lesson, all right, if there happened to be any other ruffians in these parts. He rather doubted it; the Rangers were back on the job, and very efficient.  
  
At least they had not taken the bottle, with its precious cure. It still hung from his belt, though his sword and the knives he kept in his boots were gone. The presence of the bottle spoke of some hope. And Aragorn had never been one to give up, when hope still remained.  
  
'I suppose that you wouldn't believe me, if I told you that this was all a misunderstanding.'  
  
The hobbit scowled.  
  
Aragorn decided that that would be a no.  
  
'It's just that I lost my way.'  
  
'Well, you're awful far in to just have lost your way, if you understand what I'm saying. You'd have had to climb over the High Hay to lose yourself in Buckland, you know, and that's an awful lot of trouble, if your aim was to lose yourself. Just be glad that we found you, those Tooks in Tookland would have shot first, and asked the questions later.'  
  
'Well,' and Aragorn couldn't help but grin, 'there haven't been many questions, have there?'  
  
The hobbit scowled. 'Quiet, you.'  
  
Aragorn quieted. It hadn't been that funny a joke, anyway.  
  
The hobbit gave him a hard look and sighed, then shook his head. 'It just can't be.'  
  
The King wondered what it was that he spoke of, but said nothing.   
  
'You picked a bad time to climb over the High Hay,' the hobbit mused aloud. 'Bad things're happening here.'  
  
'You're telling me,' Aragorn answered. The other gave him a sharp glance.  
  
'Sheep worried, hobbits attacked...'   
  
'You wouldn't believe that's why I'm here,' Aragorn said quietly.  
  
'Have you been worrying sheep now?' his guard asked sharply.  
  
'No, but I know who has. I came to put a stop to it,' Aragorn answered.  
  
'You're right, I'd find it hard to believe you,' the hobbit said wryly.  
  
Then, the hobbit was called to the fireside and Aragorn was left in silence. He tugged at his bonds but could get nowhere with that. It seemed as though he would be left here to decorate the tree with his lifeless corpse. He knew they would never believe the truth, and there was no use exposing the Brandybucks to suspicion, since Pippin would be taking care of that problem if Aragorn did not return in time to stop him.  
  
Unless, of course, he could overcome the hobbits, before he was put to the sword.  
  
But then, saving himself from the blade, he would only condemn himself to the arrows.  
  
There was a shout from one of the guards, the one that had been watching him, and the hobbits left the clearing--something had been seen in the darkness, possibly this ruffian had come with friends. Or perhaps it was the sheep-worrier. The hobbits, grim, left the clearing, staying together in a group against the nameless menace they feared. They did not appear too worried about that menace attacking the helpless Man bound to the tree. Not a one stayed behind.  
  
Aragorn was left alone. This would be his time, then--perhaps the Valar themselves had left such a window of opportunity.  
  
Yet as the hobbit that had watched over him returned, Aragorn knew that he had no such luck.  
  
'You'll be saying nothing, or I don't know what might come of it, do you hear?' he was told in a whisper, and the hobbit drew his knife. Aragorn looked to him expectantly, and the hobbit, not needing any answer, reached up and sliced at the rope that tied Aragorn to the tree.  
  
'Won't you get in trouble for doing this?' Aragorn asked quietly.  
  
'Not if you slip away quiet-like,' the hobbit muttered. 'The others are all off chasing after the noises I made in the bushes just now.'  
  
'Why are you doing this?' Had he been a true ruffian, he could have murdered the hobbit as soon as he'd been cut free, and no one the wiser. Did the other know the chance he was taking? Aragorn had a feeling that he did.  
  
'What's wrong with ye?' the hobbit hissed in exasperation, but the Man held his gaze. He dropped his eyes and shrugged. 'I won't have no blood on my hands, do you understand, even if you're just a ruffian. And... you're not like the ones that came before.' He cut free Aragorn's hands, as well. 'But you'll leave now, if you know what's good for you. When they know you've escaped, they'll come after you. If you're gone from the Shire, then you'll have no worries.'  
  
Aragorn knew a blessing when he saw one.  
  
He saluted the courageous hobbit, and then he left, quietly scooping up his sword and knives from where the Shirriff had laid them.  
  
And he hoped that there was still time.  
  
***  
  
It was getting close to moonset and Strider still had not come.  
  
Sam tried to argue with Pippin, but Tookish determination won out. 'It ends here,' Pippin said bitterly. 'I don't want to go through this again a month from now. What if someone gets killed this time?' Sam could not argue with that.  
  
'Besides,' Pippin added, to clinch his argument, 'We'll never be able to trick Merry the same way again. He knows that _we_ know. He'll be on his guard against us. This is our only chance.'  
  
'What if Aragorn comes?' Sam asked, but Pippin could see the hopelessness in his eyes.  
  
'He won't come,' Pippin said. 'It's too late. Look at the moon.'  
  
Sam looked, and his heart sank. The moon was very low in the West now, his face enormous, silvery cloak turning to gold as he approached the horizon. Mist began to rise from the ground, making his appearance all the more eerie.  
  
Pippin wearily rose to his feet. 'It ends now,' he said.  
  
'I can't do it,' Sam said miserably. 'That's Merry we're talking about!'  
  
Pippin shook his head. 'That's not Merry,' he said sadly. 'Merry's dead already. We're just putting him to rest, is all.'  
  
The Other raised its head to watch him as he stooped to pick up Sting. The eyes were already changing; Merry's eyes now looked beseechingly into Pippin's.  
  
'Just a clean stroke through the heart at moonset,' Pippin whispered, steeling his resolve. 'A clean stroke, Merry. You won't suffer, I promise.' The Other shook its head, the features shifting subtly until Merry's face was looking at him.  
  
'Please, Pippin,' Merry said for a last time.  
  
Pippin glanced at the bloated moon, kissing the horizon.  
  
'Now,' Sam said softly, and Pippin raised the sword.  
  
'I'm sorry, Merry,' he said as he drew it back for the stroke.  
  
Even as he struck he heard a shout behind him, another sword coming from nowhere to parry the blow. Sting missed its mark, and Merry screamed as the blade sliced instead into his shoulder.  
  
Pippin was thrown off balance, tried desperately to catch himself, found himself falling. His head struck a rock and he knew no more.  
  
***  
  
The only sound in the clearing was the crackling of the fire, the occasional snap as hot pitch ignited explosively, the sighing of the wind in the treetops, and Merry's soft pleading.  
  
'Pippin? Pippin, can you hear me? Pippin?'  
  
He opened his eyes to the darkened clearing, shadows dancing in the firelight. Merry sat by the fire, arm in a sling. Aragorn was on his other side. Sam's voice came from above him; he realized his head was pillowed in Sam's lap. 'He's waking up, I think.'  
  
'Pippin?' Aragorn said softly. 'You gave us quite a scare.'  
  
'I'm sorry, Merry,' Pippin whispered. 'I tried... I tried to give you rest. I'm sorry. I failed you.'  
  
'It's all right, cousin,' Merry said gently. 'You did what you had to do. But it is really and truly all right,' he continued. 'Strider came in time to save me.'  
  
Tears filled Pippin's eyes and he shook his head, even though it hurt to do so. 'He saved you, for how long? Another month? And then what?'  
  
To his amazement Merry smiled, and looking at Aragorn, Pippin saw the smile reflected in the Man's face.  
  
'Strider came in time to save me,' Merry repeated. 'He found the cure, Pippin. He set me free.'  
  
'Free?' Pippin whispered. 'Truly free?'  
  
Merry laughed, and it was the old laugh that Pippin remembered, that sounded like bells ringing and sun shining and the River rippling on a summer's day.


End file.
